


Adventure Time: Grapes on A Vine

by gobletoffairywine



Category: Adventure Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:25:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gobletoffairywine/pseuds/gobletoffairywine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War.<br/>Pain.<br/>Loss.<br/>Destruction.<br/> These all all thing Marecline has to deal with at seven years old. <br/>Simon is with her. Always. But as he struggles to control the crown's hold over him a wicked plot is brewing in the Nightosphere. <br/>A plot that could set Marcy free forever, or destroy her</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventure Time: Grapes on A Vine

1

 

Snow falls all around them in delicate drifts of sparkle and white. A young girl, shabby with choppy black hair looks up to the grey sky and tries to catch one of those snowflake dudes on her tongue. One lands on her dinky nose, balancing like a ballerina. Her nose prickles with the frostiness.  
She laughs a kid's laugh.  
She is a kid.  
She's forced to act not like a kid though. Because of everything that's gone down.  
Because of everything that's going to go down.  
“Marcy, over here.” Simon signalled waving his arms about, poor old Simon, thought the young girl. She giggled and wandered over to him, where he was hunkering down in an over turned car.  
Marcy saw the swirly silver writing plaque thingy stuck to the front. “Th-un-der bi-rd.” she beamed.  
Simon had taught her how to read a little, her parents certainly weren't around to teach her.  
The car had been fancy, now it was a little worse for wears. Sure it had a few scuffs and a bit of rust here and there but it would do them just fine, for now. Marcy ducked and crawled through the broken window of the car. She was careful to stay away from the shards of glass littering the plush carpet that, technically speaking was the car's ceiling. The car was completely over turned, like a beetle on it's back, like a leaf blow over by the wind. Simon was hunched over his pack, rummaging through it as if he were a hungry raccoon.  
Marcy smiled at Simon's resemblance to that of a raccoons. Marcy had such a bewitching smile.  
It's sad to think that one day, that smile will turn bitter and cruel and fill with shadows and darkness.  
Sorry to dampen the mood.  
Anyway, where were we? Ah yes, Simon was a raccoon.  
Simon looked up from the backpack and found Marcy smirking away to herself, he liked it when she smiled, she was a good kid and deserved to smile. Their particular predicament didn't normally allow her much smiling. “What are you smiling at?” asked Simon in his slightly husky voice, Marcy noticed it was getting huskier.  
“Nothing much. Are we living here now?” she wondered.  
“Hopefully not, this is just a resting point for now, until we get you to a safe place.” he reassured her.  
“We've been searching for a safe place for ages.” Marcy whined. “I'm tired of it.”  
Simon looked at her. He looked old. But, then again for as long as Marcy had know Simon, he had always seemed old. Bushy grey-white hair and beard, skin so cold it almost seemed blue, a long pointy nose and spectacles. “Then you should get some sleep Marcy, you haven't slept in days.”  
Marcy looked paler, if that was possible. “No, I hate sleeping!” she declared. “I have all these really scary dreams that seem so real.” She shivered.  
“And I'm not even that tired. I just meant that I want to stop looking for the safe place, you're my safe place, Simon.” she said proudly.  
Simon's heart melted. Even though it was a clump of icy rock, it melted. It was goopy.  
He took a deep breath. “Marcy we can't stop here, it's too dangerous, what if you got hurt, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”  
This made Marcy angry. It simmered and fizzed and popped. It zinged and- Sorry, too much?  
“What if you get hurt Simon!” Marcy shouted in her voice that was a concoction of squeak and husk and edge. “We're fine here, if we just stay together, we'll be ok.” she smiled.  
“Marcy, this place is not safe, we are never safe here, never. And we will stay together until we get you to somewhere safe.”  
Marcy knew what that meant, that he'd take her somewhere protected and leave. He'd leave her. Just like her parents left her. “But as soon as somewhere safe happens, you'll leave me.” Marcy accused.  
Simon put the pack down. He inched closer to her. “Sweetheart. I'm only trying to do what's best for you.”  
“Then why are are going to abandon me?!” “You just want to get rid of me, right?”  
Simon's heart melted all over again. Even goopier. “Marceline. Listen to me.” he said softly but firmly. He used her full name, he meant business. She looked up to him with her sad, soulless eyes.  
In that second, he was furious. With everything, with her parents who, let's just say weren't entirely human. With her mother for dying on poor little Marcy and her father for leaving her all alone to cause chaos. Ah, yes. Her father. Simon was particularly angry with him because he was the one who wasn't all that human. He was the one who just so happened to rule the Nightosphere, where all the demons and other happy chaps resided.  
Simon hated him.  
Because of him, Marceline was stuck here, in this God-forsaken wasteland, because of him, she wasn't entirely human either. That's right. The little whipper-snapper was half vampire.  
Are you scared?  
Me neither.  
Actually, I'm surprised you didn't pick up on this sooner, I mean look at her! The whiter than fear or snow skin, the black, heartless eyes and I haven't mentioned this yet, but the rather pointy fangs. 

“Marceline.” Simon started again. “I have to get you somewhere safe, I have to get you away from this place, those horrible things. But don't, even for a second think that I want to get rid of you. If I could I would stay with you forever and ever and we could protect each other.” Simon smiled sadly down at the sickly little girl who was looking back up at him with such intensity burning in her gaze. He reached out and brushed a lock of ratty ebony hair away from her face, only for it to fall back into place seconds later. He chuckled.  
“Then why do you have to go?” she asked quietly. “When we find a safe place, it'll be safe. That's why it's called a safe place.”  
Simon laughed. “Ho, Marceline.” You deserve so much more than this. Than me. He thought.  
“Why won't you tell me?” she wailed. “ You think I won't understand, but I will, I promise!”  
“Look-” Simon started.  
“NO!” Marceline screamed, Slamming her fists down on the floor. Bits of glass cut into her knuckles. “Please, Simon. Just tell me, I can handle it and you know I can, you're just not saying anything because you won't be able to handle it!” She shouted, tears welling in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks that would have been a rosy red, if she hadn't been, you know...  
“Marcy, please calm down” He said, reaching an arm out, trying to soothe her. “ honey, you're bleeding. You're hurting yourself.”  
Marceline's knuckles were cut and scratched, blood prickling then running down her fist.  
“I don't care.” she said darkly. Then she did something horrific.  
Marcy brought her fist to her mouth, stuck out her pink tongue and dragged her hand across her mouth, she tasted blood for the very first time. It was sweet and metallic and warm and gross.  
The thing is though, Marceline liked it. She licked her lips. Simon stared in horror as her eyes  
shifted. Only for a second, they went from black to a vibrant, terrible, demonic green then returned to onyx. He caught a whisper of a wicked smirk flash across her face.  
Then she broke for the very first time. The first of many to come. A small fracture in a bone, a minuscule vain burst in a porcelain mixing bowl. She trembled, tears gushed. Simon's heart melted for a third time. The goopiest. He crawled over to the mess of tears and bloodstains and snots formally know as Marceline, told her everything was going to be ok and scooped her up in his arms, he hugged her tight. She cried into his old tatty suit as he rocked her back and forth Softly, Simon kissed her head. “Everything is going to be ok, you'll see.” 

2

Soon the sun rose, spilling a warm honey colour all over everything. A few of the remaining normal ( Whatever that is.) birds chirped in the distance and a frosty wind drifted through the trees. Simon hadn't gone far from the car but had the horrifying feeling that if he turned his back on it for too long, those things would come back and gobble Marcy up. She was still sleeping. For hours last night she had cried and cried and cried. Wailed into Simon's chest, staining his blazer with her tears and before that she hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in ages, not since this all started...

He didn't want to admit it but he was afraid, no more than afraid, terrified that if he left her alone too long she would taste more blood. He couldn't get the look of pure astonishment on her face when she'd tasted her own blood. It would be carved into his mind for a very long time, I don't say forever because- well, I probably shouldn't give spoilers away.  
But you can imagine why this guy wouldn't want a vampire (half vampire, but still) to acquire a taste for blood. It was also the fact that she hadn't tasted on accident, it wasn't like she'd had a nose bleed and it had trickled down and she got a small taste of it. No, she'd done it on purpose, she'd know exactly what she was doing and how much it would disturb Simon.  
The thing is, he'd been prepared for this. He had been ready to sit her down and have 'the talk' (No, not that one.) with her. He was going to explain properly that she was part vampire, he knew she had a brief idea that she wasn't completely normal, but she deserved the truth. He planned on telling her how she wouldn't age as quick as everyone else, that she might have powers. He'd anticipated her excitement at the possibility of superpowers. He would explain that she might have violent tendencies or outbursts or might be scolded by the sun. And most of all, he was going to tell her that once she got her first taste of blood, it would be so hard to not want more. But he had been ready to restrain her and help her and to take care of her.

Now, after last night he was afraid to bring it up again, afraid that she'd start to cry endless streams of tears that melted his heart over and over again. The thing that scared him the most, the thing that made him feel so terribly ashamed, was that last night when she was completely helpless and broken, so completely cracked apart was that he was actually afraid of her. Afraid she would turn on him. Afraid he would have to take desperate measures. The ones she hated, whenever those horrid creatures attacked them. The ones he used to protect her with. You see, Simon wasn't exactly human either, Yet he wasn't exactly completely not human.  
Confused?  
Me neither.  
What happened a moth ago, when it seemed like years ago, changed Simon's life forever. Back when he had a job as an antiquarian, back when everything had been ok, Simon was obsessed with finding every little thing he could about the supernatural and anything magical. He loved artefacts with mystery and would do almost anything to find out more about them. His fiancée, Betty had loved him for this very reason. But once he found out about the crown everything spiralled. Even now, he couldn't remember all of it. He remembered the visions, though he didn't think he could ever forget about them. He kept the crown chained to his pack, just in case. In case he needed to protect Marcy.  
He was meandering through a clearing that was littered with junk. Cans, bottles, scraps of metal or hunks of wood. He was looking for anything that might come in handy.  
He thought about turning back. I should check on Marcy.  
No, she'll be fine, I can see the car from here, everything's going to be ok, you said it yourself.  
He heard a rustling in a near by bramble bush.  
He reached for the crown. Normally he had Marcy here to calm him down once they were safe-ish, to get him to take the crown off, but she was still in the car. Asleep. Would she even be able to hear him?  
It was a chance he just had to take.  
Rustle. Rustle  
A ferocious bunny hopped out of the bush. Simon breathed a sigh of relief. He caught the bunny anyway. They were pretty hungry these days.  
Simon was thankful Marcy hadn't been there to watch him clobber the bunny with a mushroom, then a hunk of wood, then a scrap of metal, then his shoe. And when he skinned it, he was grateful she wasn't there to see all that blood. But he was over-joyed to be able to give her something to eat. He knew she'd been starving her one sock off and hadn't said anything or complained about it once.  
He walked back to the car and set up his mini camping stove, Simon poked and prodded the carcass with a twig, turning it over. He slouched against the side of the car.  
Marcy was lying on the shady forest floor. Asleep. Peaceful. Birds chirped, the sun shined.  
Marcy hated herself because she knew that something was about to go wrong.  
Then something did.  
A loud rumble overhead.  
A scream.  
Simon? Where are you?  
The ground started to crack, forming big scars in the earth.  
Simon!  
Fire sprung for the cracks along with a collection of frighting laughs.  
Soon, Marcy was surrounded by embers and evil.  
She screamed and turned over.  
Simon stood watching her, glassy eyes. Not a care in the world.  
The dream's message:Simon did not care about Marcy.  
Marceline awoke with a gasp, she could still feel the ground splinting beneath her, the flames burning and the look on Simon's face.  
It's ok, she thought. Everything's going to be ok.  
She heard the crackle of the camping stove.  
Could this be? Food!?  
Marcy scrambled to her feet, wormed her way out of the car and found Simon sitting against it, watching over the stove. The dream flashed before her eyes.  
The pain.  
The fear.  
Simon. Not caring.  
“Marcy, just in time, I caught us some breakfast.” said Simon.  
It was just a dream, right? Nothing to be afraid of.  
Marcy smiled her little smile and sat down next to Simon.  
Simon smiled too. He split the bunny, giving Marcy the biggest piece. She beamed at the bashed in bunny and gobbled it up. Simon ate slowly and when Marceline burped and licked her fingers  
(Noticing, for the first time, the raggedy bandage, stained with blood wrapped around her knuckles. The one Simon had put on her last night when the bleeding wouldn't stop.)  
Simon offered her his remaining grub.  
“Simon, you went out and caught it, you should get to enjoy it. Besides, you must be hungry.”  
said Marcy.  
“Are you sure, because I don't think I could eat another little bit and we can't save it for latter, it'll rot too quickly.”  
“Well, if it would just be going to waste...” said Marcy, already reaching her hands out for the crumbling meat.  
“Enjoy.” said Simon. Truthfully, he was starving. But that's how it is when your trying to protect someone you care more about than yourself.  
He put an arm around her as she ate, trying to savour it.  
It was gone in a few seconds.  
“What's the plan for today?” asked Marcy.  
“Ah, yes.” said Simon as he turned the stove off and packed it up. He dreaded this conversation, the one where he couldn't bring himself to lie to Marceline, so he would tell her the truth: I'll get you somewhere safe, but then I have to leave. To make sure that safe place stays safe.  
“Well, I know I said we could stay here a while but I think it would be best if we kept moving.”  
Simon knew they could afford to stay here awhile but he really didn't want to go back inside that car. To be reminded...  
“Ok.” she said. Marcy didn't want to repeat to last night's antics. She didn't even ask where they would go, she just helped Simon pack up and held his hand as they walked away from the car. 

 

3

 

A few days have passed since we last saw Simon and Marcy. Before they were in the outskirts of somewhere. (All signs had been crushed (!?) or vandalised.) Now they were definitely somewhere, or at least somewhere that had been somewhere. Before.  
Buildings rose all around them, high and towering. Abandoned cars littered the roads, along with everyday objects like pans, old clothes and broken do-dads.  
Almost every building had broken windows and had been looted.  
It was eerily quiet. The only sounds were Simon and Marcy picking they're way through the city.  
The crunch of glass underfoot. Simon was careful to steer Marceline away from pointy things as she only had one tatty sock on. He'd have to find her a new pair. She could do with some new clothes, too. She was clad in a pale purple t-shirt and a grubby denim pinafore.  
Simon knew just where to take her.  
They walked for hours, going through streets that once must have been glamorous and sparkling.  
He knew his way around perfectly, Simon had visited Betty here many times and was preparing to move in with her. Before.  
They came to a urban but charming street were stone steps led up to an apartment building.  
Betty's apartment.  
“What is this place?” asked Marcy, her eyes darting around the once grand lobby.  
“I-well, I guess I used to live here, sort of.”  
“Wow.” Marcy was impressed.  
Simon didn't want to risk taking the elevator, so they climbed the many flights of stairs until they came to a hallway. The wallpaper had faded and was peeling in some places. The carpet had a nice collection of miscellaneous fluid stains. There were broken coffee and end tables lying here and there, doilies flung about and smashed vases chilling out.  
They stood before apartment 2B. Betty's apartment.  
Betty's apartment.  
Simon had loved Betty so much. She was funny and smart and witty and beautiful. He managed to clasp scraps of memories.  
The way she brushed her auburn hair out of her eyes.  
The way she adjusted her glasses.  
The way Simon and her could stay up all night talking.  
The way he had failed to protect her.  
Because he was the one he should have protected her from. 

“Ok, Marcy.” Simon whispered softly. “You ready to go in?”  
Marceline nodded, hair raven black hair flopping about.  
Simon turned the rusted doorknob. It opened.  
You can do it. He thought. For Marcy.  
The apartment was exactly the way he remembered and looked nothing like it at the same time.  
The place was a mess.  
Picture frames hung crooked, their glass cracked. Shelves pushed over, a sea of books flowed around them. The kitchen had been ransacked, cupboards open, every scrap of food taken. Broken plates and cups lay in pieces on the tile floor.  
Marcy stayed silent, she knew Simon was still carrying a torch for this Betty. He hadn't told her much, just that he thought they would have gotten along. Would have.  
Would.  
He spoke of her when he recoded himself. A video diary, he called it. He said he had been doing it awhile before they met. Marcy didn't like it when he recorded though, when he did, she saw just how sad and broken he really was. She didn't mind his recording as much as she minded, hated when he put the crown on. He changed then. He didn't just get really sad or depressed. He changed completely.  
“Ok, look for anything that'll come in handy.” he told Marcy. “Just be careful.”  
She had rolled her eyes at that. She hated it when he underestimated her. And how exactly could she hurt herself here, in an apartment with Simon close by, hmm?

Well, you'll just have to wait and see. 

Marcy scoured the living room, flipping through books, challenging herself with new words.  
Simon went to the bedroom and began to look for a new pair of socks. Most of Betty's clothes were still there. It brought tears to Simon's eyes.  
He rummaged through the chest of draws, most of it's content too big for Marcy. He found her a blanket though.  
Then he searched the bathroom, looking for bandages as the one he put on Marceline's hand last night had been soaked in blood surprisingly quickly. He looked in the cabinet that doubled as a mirror, when he remembered something.  
A memory 

Simon and Betty stood in the bathroom together, where they had just finished washing their faces.  
They were at that lovey-dovey part in the relationship where the did everything together. Betty had been making fun of Simon's face cloth. It was blue and had penguins on it.  
“Nice penguins.” Betty teased.  
“Yeah, I think so, too.” Said Simon.  
He pointed to one of the penguins and said: “This little guy is Gunter.”  
Betty laughed. “What kind of name is Gunter?”  
“It's a fine name.” said Simon proudly.  
“So if we ever had kids, you'd be ok if we called one of them Gunter?” Asked Betty with a raised eyebrow.  
This was what Simon loved about their relationship, they could talk about anything. Most couples, at the mention of kids,, would have freaked out a little, but not these two.  
“Well, I don't know about that.” he said. “But if we ever get a pet penguin, then we can call him or her Gunter.”  
“That sounds like a plan.” said Betty.  
And the memory faded.  
Simon hadn't realised but a sneaky tear was rolling down his cheek.  
Then another. And another. And another. 

He tried to ignore them and reached for the roll of bandages when he heard Marcy scream.

He blinked the tears away and darted out of the bathroom.  
Marcy lay sprawled on the rug, one of those things pinning her down.  
It was a ghastly looking thing, it's skin a pale shade of green, it was medium hight and thin limbs, but Simon knew it was as strong as a bull. It had no eyes and a thick black liquid poured from it's ears and gaping eye sockets.  
“MARCY!” Simon bellowed. The thing had scratched Marcy up pretty badly, red gashes along her arms and legs. The monster turned and sprung at Simon. He dodged just in time, it collided with the wall. Thump.  
Simon grabbed a small but heavy lamp and whacked the thing over the head.  
It did almost no damage.  
The thing grasped the lamp and flung in across the room, hitting Marcy right in the face.  
Her nose started to bleed.  
She didn't notice it yet.  
Two more of the horrid monsters appeared out of thin air.  
“What!?” Simon gasped.  
Marcy scrambled back.  
Her nose trickled.  
Two of the monsters came at Simon, claws clawing, teeth gnashing.  
One of them went for Marcy.  
These things, in case you didn't know, are soul suckers. They do exactly what they sound like they do: suck souls. They are good at their jobs. Committed.  
It swiped at her but she dodged and threw herself behind the sofa. The thing flicked, actually flicked the sofa out of the way. It collided with a unbroken window.  
Not so unbroken any more, are we?  
The soul sucker kicked Marceline just as she was about to scramble away. It knocked the wind out of her. The force of it flung her back into the kitchen, broken porcelain tearing at her clothes and back.  
The monster wandered into the kitchen, peacefully, as if looking for a cup of tea and a biscuit.  
Ho well. This sickly little child would do just fine. Peachy, actually.  
It was on her in an instant. It's long cold fingers seizing her small neck, it's fingernails threatening to puncture. The thing picked her up, her bashed and bruised legs swinging, trying to kick this meanie. It threw her against the wall, again and again. So hard a spiderweb of cracks formed on the wall behind her. She started to sob, strangled cries, yelps, pleads to stop. She closed her eyes because the sight of this monster scared her.  
So much.  
She.  
Was  
So.  
Afraid. 

Her head swam and her vision clouded. 

Simon was lying on the floor, one of these things upon him, a letter opener shaking between them. Simon gripped the handle so hard his knuckles turned white.  
A flaming anger roared inside of him.  
Marcy was in the kitchen being killed.  
And he was in here, probably, also, in the process of being killed.  
He should be in there.  
He should be in there kicking that soul sucker's ass.  
The thing hissed and urged the letter opener closer to his heart.  
Simon had already killed one of them.  
Whoop.  
Now to kill this one. Enough is enough.  
With a grunt, Simon punched the soul sucker hard in the face and stabbed it in the chest, then when it rolled of him, a stab in the heart, just to be sure.  
Right. Now for that ass kicking. 

Marcy was on the edge of conciseness. Dangling form a ledge. Losing her grip.  
The horrid creature was still have a grand time slamming her against the wall. Then the floor. The hard tile floor.  
Ouch.  
One thing, though.  
The blood from her nose trickled a little more.  
Trickled into her mouth. How handy dandy. It was ruby red, with hints of garnet and rose.  
The shock of tasting blood dragged her from the slumber she was about to enter.  
Her lightning cracked.  
Her thunder rumbled.  
She screamed.  
She felt her fangs grow.  
Her heart thudded so fast she was worried it would burst out of her chest and hit the thing in the face, leaving beads of blood.  
Blood.  
Marceline felt heavy silver invade her lungs, a sticky metal slide onto her tongue. her arms became harder to move but hit with a bigger punch.  
So that's exactly what she did, punch the monster.  
She kicked it's ass.  
The soul sucker closed it's eyes because the sight of her scared it.  
So much.  
Her eyes were dazzling peridot orbs.  
Her fangs were spires of crystal.  
She tore it to shreds.  
What fun. 

 

“Ho, crimpy glimpers.” Simon cursed as two more soul suckers appeared.  
They beat him up some more.  
A punch here.  
A kick there.  
Marcy was drenched in blood. A shimmering mess of cherry blossoms.  
Simon!  
She ran into the living room where Simon was getting pretty badly beaten up.  
Marceline screeched: “SIMON!”  
Then she completely slayed those demons.  
Tore them to ribbons.  
They were no match for her. For a little girl.  
But no, not just a little girl.  
Never just a little girl.  
This time, no more monsters appeared.  
It was just her and Simon, standing, breathless, their souls shaken. What, with all the soul sucker wandering about these days.  
Suddenly, she felt so, horribly weak. Marcy collapsed to her bloody knees.  
“Marceline.” said Simon with a urgency. “Let me see.”  
He kneeled down beside her, inspecting every cut, gash, scrape and bruise.  
He felt everyone of them in his heart.  
She was a mess. Her hair was even more tatty, her snowy face, stained with blood as if she'd been eating strawberry's. Her arms and legs were covered in bloodied spirals. Some deep. Some not so deep. Her neck was also of concern, since she'd never actually been bitten and had been born into the vampire nature, her neck had been bare. Not any more. Her neck was adorned with tiny red pricks, from the soul sucker's ever so pointy fingernails.  
Ho Glob, her back. Her clothes were shreds and she had three long and deep tears along her back that was already collecting bruises of rotten banana skin and eggplant.  
Simon took a deep breath and wiped her nose. He was almost as angry with her as much as he was with himself.  
He didn't know why.  
“Simon.” said Marcy.  
“I know.” he said.  
“But-” she started.  
“It's ok.”  
Marceline hugged him. Tight.  
Simon hugged her. Tight. 

 

“My little penguin, my little Gunter.” he murmured into her tiny shoulder.  
“Lets get you cleaned up, shall we?” he said gently.  
For the next few hours, Simon cleaned her wounds against her protest. She hissed and tried to snatch her arms away but Simon was sure to tell her that if she didn't get them clean, then she could say goodbye to Mr. arm. He gave her the blanket for her to wrap herself in so he could throw her shredded clothes out. She protested as those clothes were almost her only thing from home. She still had Hambo.  
Hambo was her pink stuffed bare, he had long floppy limbs and button eyes. She sat clutching him, snuggled in the blanket while Simon brushed and brushed and brushed her hair. He actually had to cut some of the bigger tats out, since that was pretty much all of her hair, he gave her a full trim. 

 

“Simon.” she said. “I can bathe myself.” Marceline said with a faint perly blush.  
“Ok, ok.” said Simon hiding a loving smirk at her embarrassment.  
He ran her a bath.  
It was weird being in Betty's place again. What was weirder was that just doing normal things in her apartment felt stranger than being attacked by demons in her apartment. He didn't really know what to do with himself while Marceline was in the bathroom. Simon wandered around the apartment, he picked up a few books, threw out bloodied pieces of china from the kitchen floor. Then he looked at himself in the cracked mirror. Simon knew he had changed so very much. His once chocolaty hair turned icy white in a matter of weeks, his peaches and cream complexion polluted to a sickly blue. His body temperature plummeted. All after he'd found the crown. After he'd put it on as a joke, trying to make Betty laugh after a fight they'd just had. Betty had grown concerned for Simon, she thought he was becoming too obsessed with his work.  
Then again, maybe he had.  
It angered him when he realised he didn't have many injuries. It's not like he wanted to get hurt but he felt it wasn't fair for Marcy to be the one who got torn apart. 

Soon, she'll be safe. He thought. Safe from harm. Safe from me. 

4

They left the apartment the following morning. Once Marcy was washed and all her wounds were clean (ish) Simon finally found her some suitable clothes, a dark green sweater that Betty had knit and some blue-grey pants to which Simon didn't know the origin. He tore two strips off a quilt and made socks for Marcy. The pair fell asleep on the plush rug in front of the unlit fireplace, Marceline snuggled up with Hambo and the blanket, Simon snuggled up with Marcy. In the morning they scoured the place one last time, making sure the didn't leave anything important behind.  
They snacked on some very old oat cookies Simon found in the pantry. Marcy loved them, she even broke hers in half and saved the remaining lump of crumbs. The crumb pile didn't last for long. She gobbled it in seconds after declaring it for later.  
“Technically, it is later, so it's not like you committed a crime.” joked Simon as they walked through the city again.  
The sun bled into many different tones. An early morning honey to a mid-day marmalade, bruised dawns, to velvet nights. Soon the sun transformed leaving a sphere of glowing silvery rock in it's wake.  
The moon, in case you are really stupid.  
The ground beneath them changed from concrete to grass. Dusty paths to soil to grass again.  
Marcy and Simon talked a little, nothing of substance though. When they became too sleepy to chat the silences were comfortable and the sound of grass crunching underfoot was peaceful. Not before long they came upon large woodland areas, much nicer than the pathetic weedy trees of the place where the incident happened.  
The trees were impossibly tall. Their trunks thick and rough, their canopy's full with emerald shards. They chose a particular tree and set up camp.  
How strange. Little did Marcy know, she would be back here in the years to come. She would return and meet someone.  
Simon set tramps around their camp hoping to find at least one of them with breakfast in it's grip. Marcy climbed the tree, she ignored the pain in her cuts and scrapes and gashes and slices. Grabbing a branch to hoist herself up she realised how strong she felt. Sure she felt pretty beaten up, but she also felt alive. As if she could reach out and grasp the shining stars, the gold, silver and blue blood leaking out between her fingers. She sat upon a steady branch and stared out at the moon, at the vast land before her. If only I could fly. she thought. I could shoot through the sky and explore. I could live.  
Soon, she would be doing all that. Soon. 

Marceline heard Simon meandering back towards her. She was about to make her way back down the trunk when she decided to slip of her little wooden bench.  
Slip.  
She landed on her legs but they crumpled underneath her like twigs. She was glad Simon wasn't there to have seen that. She looked at her legs. They were bandaged. Wrapped in white gauze. Marcy lifted up one of these wrappings. There she found a deep ugly gash. It was angry and messy. It was still bleeding. Bubbling, ever so slowly. Around the cut was a layer of dried blood. It looked like a ruby coating upon her skin. Like armour.  
She was transfixed by the oozing. She dipped her finger into the wound. It was fleshy and gross. It hurt and stung. She came back with a bloody fingertip. A small bead of blood sat upon the pad of her index finger. It shimmered in the moonlight.  
A twig snapped. Simon.  
She pushed the bandage back over the wound and wiped her finger on the shirt. She turned to face Simon. He smiled.  
She smiled back but it was panicked. It was a restless smile. She didn't want to be here, she wanted to be out there. Living. Simon set up the mini camping stove.  
Suddenly. She felt the need to ask what was going on. How had all this happened? Suddenly.  
“Simon?” she asked.  
“yeah, Gunter?”  
“What- how did all this happen?” she blurted.  
Simon looked at her with a look splashed in confusion and surprise.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Everything. What happened to us?”  
“Well,-” he started.  
“Where is everyone else?”  
“Marceline.” he said.  
“I thought you might ask about that sooner or later.” said Simon as he scratched the back of his neck. “Get comfy, it's going to be a long story.”  
So she did.  
And so it was.


End file.
